


A "Talk"

by NicktheMoon



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 15:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16835077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicktheMoon/pseuds/NicktheMoon
Summary: A mobster finds himself at the hands of some clowns.





	A "Talk"

Your head pounds. Your ears buzz.

You’re sitting on a chair. Your limbs are heavy. Sluggishly you try to move but your head only lolls from side to side. Your hands are together at the wrists and won’t part. You open your eyes.

The floor is concrete. A light flickers. Looking to your sides you see stacks of cardboard boxes. The walls are cold and bare. There’s no windows and one heavy door. Nothing looks familiar. Your head relaxes to a dull throbbing.

The door opens. A man walks in, shoes clicking on the hard floor. He’s wearing a suit, blue gloves and a red, white and blue mask. It looks like some clown with a US flag painted on. He advances on you. Have you seen him before? Yes - you’d gone out for a smoke when this fuck had appeared and hit you round the head, then put some cloth to your face. So your headache is his fault.

“The fuck do you want?” You ask, already gathering saliva in your mouth.  
“Where is Vyacheslav?” He’s close enough. You spit on his tacky suit.  
“Fuck off.”  
“Bad move.” He grabs your throat forcefully. “You wanna talk to me, buddy. My colleagues aren’t as talkative.”  
“Why would I know where Vyacheslav is? I’m not his fucking mother!” His hand squeezes threateningly. You try to jerk out of his grip.  
“We know you’re in contact with him. So where is he?”  
“You’re talking bullshit!” He let’s go. You rub your throat. He leaves the room.

You know where Vyacheslav is. He’s in hiding, after some of the other locations had experienced problems with a man in a mask, a crazed killer who went for blood like a dog. But his trademark was a rooster mask, not this clown shit. Either way, they’ll have to work hard to get that info. You didn’t get this high up in the organisation by snitching after a little shakeup.

Sure enough, a different man appears at the door. This clown was white and red with black eyes and a less offensive suit. He doesn’t waste time. He strides in and punches you in the face, cracking your nose and knocking you off the chair onto the concrete. Pain spikes over your face and there’s wetness dribbling over your mouth.  
“Shit!”

You’re hauled up by the collar and punched again. “I’m not saying shit!” The next hit connects with your jaw and you taste copper. Another punch and you’re on the floor, spitting out blood. “Motherfucker-” You’re about to kneel up when you get kicked in the face. Your broken nose is now a shattered nose and it fucking hurts. The onslaught doesn’t stop. The pain blooms over every nerve in your head and you know your face is swollen and bloody. There’s blood on the floor.  
“Look! If Vyacheslav doesn’t want to be found, he isn’t gonna be found! Fucking idiot.”

There’s a pause. You catch your breath. Maybe they’ll bring in another clown. You can handle that. Maybe they’ll give up, weak motherfuckers. You can manage this. So far it’s no worse then a rough night on the town. A week or two and the bruises will be gone. Your nose is fucked though.

He hands you a phone. It’s a brick-like piece of shit. “The fuck is this?” He shoves you back into the chair, cuffing your ankles to the legs. You try to hit him with the block of plastic he’s hand to you but he catches it, flinging it aside. While he frees your hands he quickly forces them behind your back, recuffing them before you can land a good punch on that stupid mask. He walks behind you, out of sight. There’s a sound from the hall. Another clown. You steel yourself for another beating.

But it’s not a clown.

The man in the doorway is wearing white sneakers, blue jeans and a brown varsity jacket. And a rooster mask.

“No. Not him.”

He steps closer. He’s holding a baseball bat. You remember now, seeing in your mind’s eye the carnage after he hit the apartments, the bloody splatters, the pulpy remains of skull and brains-

“I’ll tell him. It’s about a girl? I’ll tell him what it is you want. Wait-!” You’re blabbering, sweating as he comes closer. He lifts the bat. “I’ll get you what you want! Just stop! Pleas-!”

—

_“Okay listen up. I’ve received an interesting call from someone who called themselves ‘the Janitor’. They want our help in cleaning up a Russian gang down in Miami. Here’s the twist; they’re hooking us up with one of their men, a professional cleaner. Check the assets, it’ll have a bit about him in there. I’ve booked the tickets already. I’ll be in touch when you get there. And remember guys; play nice.”_

—

_“Hi, it’s 'Stephan’ from work. We have a team building exercise set up for you on September 30th. It’s a competitive exercise so limber up! It’ll be you and the clowns from your department against HR. Don’t go easy on them and work with your coworkers! We’ll give you more details closer to the date.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Written waaay back when the Hotline Miami 2 crossover DLC was announced. I was really excited for it!


End file.
